Exploring The Waste Land - Show supplementary textCanterbury Tales
Geoffrey Chaucer
- When April with his showers sweet with fruit
- The drought of March has pierced unto the root
- And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
- To generate therein and sire the flower;
- When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
- Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
- The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
- Into the Ram one half his course has run,
- And many little birds make melody
- That sleep through all the night with open eye
- (So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)-
- Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
- And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
- To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
- And specially from every shire's end
- Of England they to Canterbury wend,
- The holy blessed martyr there to seek
- Who helped them when they lay so ill and weal
- Befell that, in that season, on a day
- In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay
- Ready to start upon my pilgrimage
- To Canterbury, full of devout homage,
- There came at nightfall to that hostelry
- Some nine and twenty in a company
- Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall
- In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all
- That toward Canterbury town would ride.
- The rooms and stables spacious were and wide,
- And well we there were eased, and of the best.
- And briefly, when the sun had gone to rest,
- So had I spoken with them, every one,
- That I was of their fellowship anon,
- And made agreement that we'd early rise
- To take the road, as you I will apprise.
- But none the less, whilst I have time and space,
- Before yet farther in this tale I pace,
- It seems to me accordant with reason
- To inform you of the state of every one
- Of all of these, as it appeared to me,
- And who they were, and what was their degree,
- And even how arrayed there at the inn;
- And with a knight thus will I first begin.
Exploring The Waste Land
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File date: Sunday, September 29, 2002